


...the line broke, the monkey got choked...

by Hoodoo



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Public Blow Jobs, Punk Show, Quick and Dirty, Quick proposition, Semi-Public Sex, Strangers, Subway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 08:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13806984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: You catch sight of an old guy with a Mohawk. He catches sight of you too, and makes a daring suggestion.





	...the line broke, the monkey got choked...

**Author's Note:**

> From another-sanchez-slut (on tumblr) request: _I would rreeeaally like some semi-public, drunken sex with D99. Maybe at a punk show? You feel me?_
> 
> Oh, I feel you. I feel you.

It was a dive. It was always a dive. 

But the beer was cheap and the music was loud.

It was also packed. When the price at the door was only five dollars, the management ignored fire safety regulations and crammed people in. You hadn’t cared in the least; you carved out a space in the crowd and thrashed with the rest of them. It was hot and dark and you were never claustrophobic even pressed on all sides by these strangers. 

Sometimes someone wanted to press against you with a little more intent. Male or female—if they exuded just the right amount of confidence, you didn’t care what gender they were. And sometimes someone caught your eye, and you made an effort to get a little closer to them.

Tonight, a guy with a blue Mohawk grabbed your attention. He wasn’t part of the regular scene; the Mohawk was cool and all, if a little passé, and he was much older than the rest of the people in the place, including the bouncers. Props to him for sticking with the punk scene for so long. 

He didn’t care he had years on the crowd either. He was here for the music, for the energy of the mob. He thrashed with all of you, and a smile crossed your face watching this lanky old guy out rock some of the younger punks in the pit. 

You tried to get closer to him, but the mass of people seemed to block your every attempt. He was easy to keep track of—the hair gave him an even more imposing altitude—but every time you attempted to elbow your way closer, you were elbowed back and kept in place. 

Eventually you did lose track of him. It was about the time the band finished their set, and last call. You had no desire to stick around, and were moved along with the rest of the throng exiting the club. Once outside, the crowd started to break apart and dispersed along the sidewalks.

That night air was crisp and burned your lungs with the sudden shock of it. You checked your phone as you made your way to the nearest subway entrance, ignoring the jostle of people around you.

Scrolling with a thumb, you made your way to the second to last car and found a seat.

The other passengers on the car mostly ignored you. The famous New York City “mind your own business like your life depended on it” vibe was palatable, even when you were the only one dressed in black leather with multiple piercings. Most passengers looked away or maintained a classic expression of complete and utter boredom. 

However, there were murmurs from a couple of well-dressed people around you—the theater crowd—and you curled your lip. The so-called-gentry could go fuck themselves.

You advised them of that. 

Loudly.

One guy did dare to frown and glance over in your direction. You saw.

“Fuck _you,_ asshole,” you said. “You wanna piece of me? You think you can handle how I like to party?”

Adrenaline always ran high after a show, and you weren’t having any of his holier-than-thou shit. 

You stood up and found your balance in the moving car, and started making your way over to the guy. He was suddenly quite interested in his phone.

Everyone else still pointedly ignored the scene.

The subway car slowed as it neared the next platform, its brakes catching and making you steady yourself by grabbing a pole. Before you could get anywhere near the guy, the car came to a halt, the doors opened, and everyone exited as quickly as possible, leaving you alone.

You growled after them, then sunk down into the closest seat as the subway started moving again.

“I bet I can handle how you party,” the old guy from the bar said.

⁂⁂⁂

He was standing, his long-limbed form bent over just a bit so his hair didn’t brush the roof of the car. You hadn’t seen him get on the subway. You definitely hadn’t seen him in this car. Maybe he’d been in the rear and came up?

“I saw you ch-checking me out at the club,” he continued as he made his way closer. 

He plopped down in the seat next to you, sprawling out into your space. 

Now that you were actually beside him, you could see he wasn’t just a little older. His face was wrinkled and his eyes were the bloodshot of someone who really liked to drink, and had for a while. And as punk as he looked outwardly, it was undercut with an almost soldierly vibe. An interesting combination; you weren’t completely up-to-date on current military procedures but you were pretty sure they didn’t let enlisted men just do what they wanted with their hair.

“So what do you s-say? You wanna-you down to party?”

Even though that was exactly what you wanted, you tell him drily, 

“I don’t take strange men home.”

He smirked. “Who said anything about going to your shitty place?”

You fix him with a look of contempt that doesn’t need words to translate it. 

That makes him laugh. “Smart girl. No telling what kind of rapists are out there.”

“Out there? Not in here?”

“Nope,” he says, and somehow, you actually believe him.

He fumbled a flask out of an inside pocket and unscrewed the lid, then didn’t look at you while he took a swig. You watched his throat work swallowing the liquid.

When he finished, he held it out to you, offering, “Want some? Being in a pit always dehydrates me.”

You accept it, and take your own pull. It was pure vodka, burning as it went down. 

“So . . .” he said again, flinging one of those gangly arms over the back of your seat. “What’ll it be? A litt-little fun, or are you telling me to f-fuck off too?”

You size him up. He’s completely relaxed, propositioning you here. He’s confident and apparently not the least bit worried you’re might shank him or call the cops. Your gaze skipped down his lean form, and you’re not really surprised to see his pants tenting under his fly.

His hand tightened on your shoulder, and he gestured with his chin to his crotch.

“Right here, right now, baby.”

“Seriously?” you snort, rolling your eyes. “Right here. In a disgusting subway car, in the middle of everything, where people could walk in at any stop. And even if they don’t get on, they can see through the windows or door?”

He shifted his hand from your shoulder to your neck and put enough pressure there to make you turn towards him. 

“How’s about a kiss, then? Like a free taste.”

Before you could protest more, his mouth was on yours. 

There was no tease; his tongue delved deep into your mouth, stealing your breath and demanding more. At the innate commanding aura that surrounded him—the kind that was used to getting what he wanted—you melted a little, winding your tongue around his, your fingers finding purchase on his lapels, holding on.

You indulged in the kiss a moment, then pulled back, breaking away.

“No way! I don’t even know you—“

He sighed dramatically. “I’m Rick. Nice to meet you. Better? Now feel what you do to me.”

He pried one of your hands off his jacket and forced it into his crotch.

His cock was iron under your palm. At the pressure he applied with your hand there, he tipped his pelvis just a bit, so your palm moved along its trapped length. 

“Feel that, baby?” he repeated. “That’s all because I watched you watch me at the club. It’s because you know how to have a good time, you’re a sultry little slut—I saw other people touch you in the pit, and you didn’t mind too much—you made me so hot I almost blew my load in my pants—“

“Rick . . .” you whispered, his name feeling right in your mouth.

“—come on, baby. This is just you and me, all alone. I want your lips around me right now, your beautiful mouth—“

You should have more control than this. _You_ were the one who held all the cards; it was _your_ mouth he was begging for. This was a _subway,_ for fuck’s sake! Anyone could walk on, anyone could see—you should argue that blowing him in a public place was the best way to get arrested, and cops hated punks with a vengeance—

“—your hot mouth around my cock, swallowing my load, oh god, baby—“

It was the pleading dirty talk that broke your reservations. 

⁂⁂⁂ 

With nimble fingers you unbuckled and unzipped his fly. The sound Rick made being released from confinement was _almost_ worth this risk. The eager sob of pleasure he made as you took him in, leaning into his lap and deep-throating him seemingly effortlessly, _was_ worth the risk. 

You didn’t tease. From his insistence and the beastly noises he made, to the fact that his fingers threaded through the hair on the back of your head, you could tell he wasn’t looking for something sweet and delicate. He wanted raw and fast and dirty. He tasted of sweat and musk and undeniable masculinity, and that turned you on. He wanted to be blown hard and explode down your throat; you accommodated.

You used as much suction as you could manage with a cock larger than expected. You slipped your tongue around the head of his cock first in one direction, then the other to startle him as you pulled up, and then took him as deeply as possible during each downward stroke. A slight pressure on the back of your head held you down, nose pressed into his pubic bone—you’d give him credit for dying his pubic hair the same color as the hair on his head!—for just longer than was comfortable each time you went down. 

There was no chance to swallow or wipe away any excess saliva coming from your mouth, so it pooled on Rick before being wicked into his clothing.

Although you’d never met this man before and didn’t know how he typically reacted during sex, the hard and heavy pace you set pushed him quickly to orgasm. He cried out wordlessly, using his hand to keep you in place on his cock, and emptied himself with intense bursts down your throat.

You steadied yourself and allowed him to finish as he needed to. When the fingers clutched in your hair finally relaxed, you released him with a pop and sat back up.

You wiped the extra spit from your chin and rubbed your hand on Rick’s pants. 

Rick felt the move and picked his head up to look at you. You watched him swallow again, and find the flask he’d put away.

“What-what was that for?” he rasped, nodding at the wet mark now on his thigh before taking another drink.

“Hand needed dried off.”

He managed to nod, then worked at trying to catch his breath. In a second, he tidied himself. 

“See?” he said roguishly. “No one saw. No one-nobody came in the car.”

“You came in the car, Rick.”

He threw his head back and laughed. 

The subway caught on its brakes again. Although you been otherwise occupied and hadn’t been paying attention to the stops, you had the New Yorker’s instinct that this one was yours. He hadn’t returned the favor of getting you off, only stoked the flames with that demanding kiss, but you got to your feet. 

“See you around?” you said, lifting it at the end as a question. 

“Maybe, baby. M-maybe,” he replied, then jumped to his feet beside you to devour you in another breath-stealing kiss.

You couldn’t help but strain up towards him when the movement of the car coming to a stop jerked you apart. 

He smiled down at you and dug around in a pocket. He found a crumpled flyer and pressed it into your hand. It was dirty and faded and had been folded so many times there were white lines where the ink had been worn off the page. 

“You ever get the c-chance to see this band,” he advises, “you take it. The bassist—his name’s Rick too. Tell him Rick Sanchez sent you.”

That was weird, but you didn’t have time to ask questions. The doors were starting to close, and you skipped through them. 

“Thanks for the party, baby!” Rick shouted as the doors met. 

He waved a hand as the subway trundled off again. You stood on the platform and watched as long as possible. There was an odd green glow from the car, but you shrugged it off as some new lighting that’d been installed. 

You read over the flyer again. You’d never heard of the “Flesh Curtains” before. The picture was grainy and you could barely make out the band members, but you were always up for new bands with fresh sounds. You vowed to keep an ear out for them, and hopefully you’d be able to meet a new Rick too. 

_fin._


End file.
